


we'll do the things that lovers do

by scoutishere



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (as a couple lol), (stern has a broken arm), /bigfoot sex lol, Bros helping bros, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Injury, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, also a lot of porn with feelings again, okay theres bigfoot sex now in ch2 u are warned, theres no interspecies sex..... YET
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-06 17:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutishere/pseuds/scoutishere
Summary: He’s a grown man. A grown man whose thoughts are mostly taken up by the tall, large, kind, deep-voiced man who makes the best coffee and brings him pie in the mornings. But he thinks he sees something in Barclay’s eyes that betray some sort of reciprocation. Like when Stern exits his room wearing a fluffy white robe, and shucks it as he gets into the hot springs behind Amnesty, the chill of the West Virginia fall air hitting his skin before he dips into the warm water. When he sinks into it, he glances to the big windows to the Amnesty ground floor, and sees Barclay peering through -- almost immediately looking away and busying himself, but Stern saw him look, saw that hungry expression over his features.Stern needs help with something after an arm injury. Barclay is more than happy to oblige.





	1. pullin' shapes just for your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> a trans foreword from your nonbinary author 
> 
> in this fic, stern is a pre-bottom surgery trans man. i use male-coded words for his genitals. : )

Stern’s thighs shake, his legs spread and braced against the bed. 

It’s late. Stern’s not sure how late. But he can’t come, and it’s almost annoying. 

He’s got his arm craned at a semi-awkward angle to finger himself, three of his careful, practiced fingers up to the second knuckle inside of himself, crooked and stroking to the spot inside of him that would make him feel good, but he just can’t fucking get it right. His other arm is in a cast, the result of a mysterious and bad fall he had about a week ago while trying to look into reported Bigfoot sightings around Kepler, and the awkward angle is such because it’s almost impossible to hold himself up and get a good angle with one good arm. Although he grinds his palm against his cock and it’s wet and feels good, his mind drifts and he thinks of something bigger, something weightier, someone’s long, thick fingers that could get deeper inside of him and then maybe he could just _let go_…

It’s not enough. He’s tired, and one of his arms is broken, and it’s not like he’s as young as he was in his training days, where he could stay up late in bed with coworkers, come as many times as he wanted. Hell, these days, even without an arm cast, if he even makes himself come once he feels lucky. 

He ends up falling asleep, and doesn’t try to stave off the thoughts of a big, warm lodge chef there with him, how it would feel to fall asleep with Barclay. 

-

The next morning, he sits in the lobby of Amnesty Lodge, sipping a cup of coffee (damn good coffee, because it was made by none other than Barclay), and he has a newspaper open in front of him, but his tired eyes watch the chef from his seat, watches him bustle around, cleaning, prepping, managing small fires with Jake and Dani. 

It’s difficult for Stern to pretend that he isn’t some degree of infatuated with Barclay. The man often drifts into his thoughts -- not just while he’s getting off or when he’s falling asleep, but whenever, and it’s almost embarrassing how akin to a crush it feels like. He’s a grown man. A grown man whose thoughts are mostly taken up by the tall, large, kind, deep-voiced man who makes the best coffee and brings him pie in the mornings. But he thinks he sees something in Barclay’s eyes that betray some sort of reciprocation. 

Like when Stern exits his room wearing a fluffy white robe, and shucks it as he gets into the hot springs behind Amnesty, the chill of the West Virginia fall air hitting his skin before he dips into the warm water. When he sinks into it, he glances to the big windows to the Amnesty ground floor, and sees Barclay peering through -- almost immediately looking away and busying himself, but Stern saw him look, saw that hungry expression over his features. 

Now, Barclay is standing at a counter in the kitchen, Stern nearby, watching from his seat as Barclay chops vegetables for today’s dinner. His hands are careful and practiced and purposeful, and Stern’s eyes easily follow his hands’ repetitive chopping movements, the concentrated yet relaxed expression on Barclay’s face. What he could do with those hands, unshaking, long, knuckles worn from time and careful work… How those fingers would feel against his skin… He’s lucky he has a great poker face as he continues to watch and sip his coffee. 

“Sleep well?” he hears Barclay’s voice, deep and gentle, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

His head swims. He would have slept better if he could actually satisfy himself, go to sleep after a good orgasm. Without that, it’s hard to fall and stay asleep without a few melatonin or some benadryl. “Sure,” he lies, shrugging. “Cast can be a bit annoying, but that’s expected. Did you?” 

Barclay nods, glancing down at Stern’s arm sympathetically. “Sorry about that, Agent. Yeah, I slept well.” 

They chat like that for a while, Barclay asking him how his research was going, Stern replying in polite conversation. But when Stern finishes his coffee, he ends up leaving to spend time in his room instead, because although he loves spending time with and talking with Barclay, it only agitates his problem, and if he’s alone, he doesn’t have to get turned on like a teenage boy at Barclay’s gentle words and concern, his tall, large presence, his deep voice. 

It’s only about an hour until he sees Barclay again, though -- he hears a soft knock on his door, and he calls that the knocker can come in, looking up from his work on his laptop to greet Barclay as he comes through the door. Sitting on his bed, he closes his laptop, and smiles, as Barclay steps into the room, closing the door gently behind him. He’s carrying an armful of folded, warm lodge towels, a regular delivery, and he sets them down gingerly on Stern’s dresser. He smiles back at Stern, and approaches his bedside, and Stern feels the bed sink ever so slightly as he sits at the end of it, lingering in Stern’s space. “How are you doing?” he asks. 

“Better now that you’re here,” he can’t help but say, allowing himself to flirt just enough to be plausibly deniable, and he watches a slight blush arise to Barclay’s face, and oh, _cute. _

The weight at the end of his bed shifts, and Stern watches Barclay’s face turn to one of actual worry, and his heart feels a bit heavy that Barclay is worrying for him. “I just… want to make sure you’re okay, Agent. You know, with your injury and all. I just wanted to make sure you knew that you can ask for things, if you’re struggling with anything at all… the lodge has accommodations, you know--” 

Stern’s brain feels like it’s swimming, and something in him compels him forward to interrupt Barclay and there are words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I just need a good orgasm.” 

Barclay’s eyes widen, and Stern’s face immediately grows red, because _oh God, what did he just say,_ but then he feels a hand on his own hand (his good one), and it’s Barclay’s, warm and big and engulfing his own. Confused, he glances towards Barclay’s face, and it looks unsure, but warm, welcoming. “And… you want… my help with that?” 

He gulps, his throat feeling suddenly dry, but he isn’t going to back down now, now that the possibility of actually being with Barclay is so close; he’s been wanting this since he stepped foot in the lobby of Amnesty for the first time. “Yes,” he breathes out. 

The expression on Barclay’s face is almost unreadable, despite the years of training Stern has done on reading people, understanding and decoding people’s emotions. But he watches as Barclay turns towards him and then they’re close, and then they’re kissing, Barclay’s hand on the side of his jaw, his palm big and warm splayed over the side of Stern’s face. 

He can’t help the little noise that springs from the back of his throat when Barclay kisses him, because oh, it’s what he has wanted for so long, and it feels exactly how he wanted it to feel, how he imagined it: Barclay’s beard tickling his chin and face, his lips soft and gentle, but insistent, and Stern takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into Barclay’s mouth, licking inside and tasting him, warm and soft. 

And then Barclay pulls back, and Stern sees that same expression he saw Barclay give him the day he saw him watch Stern bathe at the hot springs; his eyes are darkened, and he’s looking at Stern like he’s undressing him with those wild eyes, and his hand comes down, his thumb brushing over Stern’s bottom lip. He watches Barclay’s watch his mouth, Barclay’s expression contorting as he parts his lips, licking the pad of Barclay’s thumb softly. “_Jesus_, Stern,” Barclay murmurs, his voice weak, and he leans back in to kiss him again, a little hotter than before. 

Stern kisses back greedily, desperately, because this is all he’s wanted for so long, and he brings his good hand up to stroke down the front of Barclay’s chest, the wooly, thick flannel he’s wearing. And if he pulls at the buttons of it, trying to see more of the man in front of him, then who could blame him? Barclay pulls back, a bit breathless from their kiss, and seeing where Stern is pulling, shucks his shirt quickly. There’s a moment where Stern just looks at him, his dark, olive skin covered in course hair, his limbs long and capable, his face darkened with lust. When his eyes drift down, he sees the bulge in Barclay’s pants already; it all makes his mouth water. 

Barclay catches him looking, and when Stern looks up at Barclay’s usually kind face, it’s crossed with a smirk, the man knowing exactly how desperate Stern is. “This is what you wanted?” he asks, a hand coming to stroke Stern’s hair out of his eyes. It’s surprisingly gentle. 

“Fuck, yes,” he replies, and runs a hand down the front of Barclay’s chest again, stopping to thumb one of his nipples, and Barclay’s moans are so low they’re a rumble in Stern’s chest. 

And then Barclay is helping Stern take his shirt off, too -- being injured, he can’t usually wear the dress shirts he prefers, and now he’s just wearing a t-shirt (some tourist trap Bigfoot shirt from a Kepler gas station that Aubrey got him as a joke), which Barclay lifts off of him with ginger hands, careful not to jostle his broken arm, being more gentle than Stern ever is with himself. But Stern wants more, so he pulls down Barclay for a kiss again, their mouths moving roughly in tune with one another, Stern licking into Barclay’s mouth and sucking on his bottom lip. Barclay’s teeth sometimes crash into Stern’s, and Stern notices they are a bit sharp -- but it just makes their rough kisses all the better, and Stern sighs into Barclay’s mouth. Wanting to speed things along, he brings one of Barclay’s larger hands to his hips, guiding him to the wetness that is beginning to threaten to seep through his boxers, if he gets any more desperate. 

When Barclay’s fingers actually connect with his cock (albeit through a layer of fabric), he can feel and hear a deep, animalistic noise coming from the back of the man’s throat, like a growl, and it would maybe make him scared if he heard it from anyone else but Barclay, and it goes straight to his cock, making him even harder, and he rocks his hips against Barclay’s hand, urging him forward.

Barclay is pulling his hand up from under Stern to pull at the waistband of his boxers, murmuring “is that okay?” and beginning to actually shuck them off when Stern says something like “yes yes _yes_.” When they’re off of Stern and laying on the floor, he realizes that he’s naked with Barclay still relatively dressed in front of him, and it doesn’t fail to turn him on even more. But what really makes him moan is Barclay settling on his bed, adjusting Stern to be laying down as he hovers above him, his hand teasing just a few inches above Stern’s cock. 

Stern’s a composed man, but he feels desperate with lust, having not come in quite a while, now, and the man he’s been admiring from afar for so long just inches from his sex. He fights off the urge to whine. “Touch me, Barclay,” he breathes out, but Barclay holds fast, leaning down to kiss Stern’s neck, stopping what he is doing to suck a hickey into a particularly sensitive spot. Stern arches up, seeking friction, but Barclay just moves his hand a little away, and Stern huffs out a frustrated sigh. “I thought you wanted to help me,” he murmurs, a bit accusational. 

There’s that smirk again, that knowing look spreading across Barclay’s features. “I do,” he mouths against the skin of Stern’s neck. “But hey, who said I can’t take my time?” 

Both of Barclay’s hands grip his chest, and the man’s rough, calloused thumbs both glide over his nipples at once, thumbing them and making his whole body jerk with the feeling, eyes closing as a wave of electricity courses through his body, makes the place between his thighs even wetter. Now he can’t help the whine that escapes from his teeth, soft and keening, his hips arching up in an attempt to find friction. 

As soon as Barclay’s touch is there, it’s gone, and he opens his eyes to watch Barclay sit back on the end of his bed, away from Stern. “You’re cute, you know,” Barclay says, a bit breathless, and he begins to unbuckle his belt, undoing his pants. Before he completely takes them off, he pauses. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says, looking Stern in the eyes. “I just -- well. I felt a bit trapped in those.” 

There’s a laugh coming from his mouth, but it’s not mean, just breathy and unbelieving, and his hands itch to reach out and shuck off Barclay’s boxers, too, because he can see the bulge of Barclay’s cock through them and it’s making him ache to touch, to feel, to taste. “I want you,” he gets out, hoping that’s enough, and pulling Barclay forward to kiss him again, hoping to convey how fucking desperate his is through the kiss, how much he wants Barclay to just fucking touch him already. 

It seems to get the message across, as Barclay eases him down again and almost immediately kneels between Stern’s legs to lick a wide stripe from his entrance to his cock. It’s unexpected; Stern had only really thought Barclay would finger him, maybe fuck him, maybe ask for Stern to give him head -- because that’s what’s typical of men he knows and has fucked, pleasure always being a bit unequal. But with no questions asked, Barclay is eating him out, gathering the wetness and slick that has gathered there in the past minutes, spreading Stern’s thighs with big, capable hands. They lift his hips with ease, and he’s once again reminded how strong the man before him is, how he could lift him with no problem whatsoever. It makes a new wave of pleasure course through his body, and his thighs, which now rest on either side of Barclay’s face, tense and untense within his grasp. 

And Barclay’s mouth is just so good, too -- it’s big, just like everything else about him is, and it makes his tongue feel like a goddamn sex toy, his mouth moving purposefully against his cock in a way that makes Stern’s hips cant forward to the touch, shaking with pleasure and arching up for more. It makes Barclay’s fingers dig into his thighs, and god, he should hate himself for how it just makes it better, the little bit of pain coursing through his body and making him even harder. Barclay’s lips close around his cock and he sucks, making Stern’s whole body jerk, and he’s sure he sounds ridiculous right now, moans falling from his open mouth freely. Self conscious, he wrenches his mouth closed, but Barclay stops to look up at him. “It’s okay,” he assures Stern, a hand caressing his inner thigh comfortingly. “You sound so fucking good, I wouldn’t even care if everyone in the lodge heard.” And his voice is like it was earlier, deep and gruff, making Stern’s cock twitch. 

But Stern wants more. “With your fingers,” he gets out, feeling a bit choked, and Barclay nods, and he feels one solid, calloused finger, much bigger than his own, and somehow reaching so much deeper, slide inside of him, and he clenches around the intrusion, loving the feeling of being filled. His eyes roll back into his head as Barclay crooks this finger, stroking that wall of pleasure inside of him and making him sob out a moan, his whole body arching forward to the touch. The flat of Barclay’s tongue remains on the underside of Stern’s cock, licking him ever so slightly as he fucks Stern with his fingers.

Stern feels Barclay pull back a bit, at the same time slipping another finger alongside the first, and he feels Barclay’s hot breath near his inner thigh, lazily kissing the sensitive skin there and making Stern arch his hips, fucking back on Barclay’s fingers and groaning. “Look at that. Look at that. So fucking good,” he growls out, his voice deep and the vibrations making Stern shiver. “Bet you’d take my cock good, too,” he murmurs, his voice almost unhearable, but Stern is so glad he heard it because it’s all he can imagine now, Barclay’s cock inside of him, oh fuck. He’s got to be big, thick, something substantial, something Stern will feel the next morning… 

But when Barclay leans down, sucking his cock again with those lips as he adds another finger, languidly fucking him with three, now, stroking his insides and making his hips jerk, he shudders when his orgasm hits him, heavy and all at once, his back arching as he fucks himself down on Barclay’s mouth and fingers. He’s not sure what he’s saying -- it could be anything from curses and reprehensible language to Barclay’s name to pig latin, but his mouth is open and he’s vaguely aware that all the noise in this room is coming from him. 

When he starts to regain his composure, his vision fading from white to the dim lighting in his room, he feels Barclay’s fingers gently slide out of him, and senses Barclay’s presence above him. He opens his eyes and finds the man next to him beginning to pull him in for some sort of hug, or cuddle, and he shakes his head, regaining his breath, and kissing the skin he can reach on Barclay’s neck. “I’m not down for the count,” he breathes out with a laugh, and Barclay’s eyes widen, and Stern realizes Barclay thought he’d leave him high and dry. 

“What, you want to stop so soon?” Stern teases, and grazes his teeth gently against Barclay’s skin. Allowing Barclay to lean back, Stern begins to tease his hands at Barclay’s boxers, coming to feel Barclay’s cock through the fabric. He feels warm and hard and weighty and it makes Stern feel like he’s ready for round 2 almost immediately. He needs to feel it, touch it, suck it as soon as he can. 

So he pushes down Barclay’s boxers, listening intently to Barclay’s low, breathy moans as he does, and his cock bobs to rest at Barclay’s stomach, the hair coating his happy trail coming down to frame his cock in a way that makes Stern’s mouth water. He’s uncut, too, and Barclay reaches a big hand down between them to grip his base and stroke himself a few times, loosely, and Stern just sits and watches, entranced, as the glistening head of Barclay’s cock emerges, just waiting to be sucked. “Can I go down on you?” he asks, blunt, and Barclay hums in assent. It’s all he needs before dipping his head down to close his lips around the head of Barclay’s cock, swirling his tongue around the head of it greedily, licking up the precum there. 

It makes Barclay moan a bit, and Stern can feel the muscles in his legs as they tense, trying not to fuck up into Stern’s mouth, and he squeezes Barclay’s thighs as he takes him deeper, bobbing his head around the width of Barclay’s cock. It’s big, bigger than most people he’s done this for, but it’s delicious, a challenge all in all, and Stern is damn good at sucking cock. 

He knows because already, he feels Barclay’s hands carding through his hair, long fingers that were inside of him now gripping his scalp and pulling his hair in just the way he likes. He slides down further to take Barclay even deeper in his mouth and it hits the back of his throat, making him gag a bit, but he adjusts and continues to suck. He can hear Barclay’s moans, some caught in his mouth, his breathing ragged as he watches Stern. And that amazing, deep voice. “Look so good, doing so well, baby,” he hears, and it makes him melt, urging him on, making him want to do well just so Barclay will continue. 

But then he feels Barclay’s hand pulling him up, and he goes along with it (as if he had a choice in the matter - Barclay’s strength is something admirable) and looks up at Barclay to listen. Barclay pants a bit, and pushes the hair out of Stern’s eyes. “As much as I want to cum in your pretty mouth, baby, I was wondering if you wanted… anything else,” Barclay says, and it’s almost laughable that he’s dancing around it, but Stern’s so blindingly attracted to him that it doesn’t even matter. 

Stern leans down and mouths sloppily over Barclay’s balls, gently cupping them with his hands and licking the sensitive skin. Barclay groans at that, a rumble deep in his chest, and it sends chills down the back of Stern’s neck. He lays a kiss on Barclay’s inner thigh. “Can I ride you?” he asks, and Barclay gives him this look of awe before nodding quickly. leaning back on Stern’s bed. 

So Stern parts his legs, straddling Barclay’s thighs and sitting himself up, laying a kiss on Barclay’s throat as he settles. Leaning over to his bedside table, he grips Barclay’s shoulder to balance himself as he rummages in his drawer for a condom, finding one and tearing it open with his teeth before leaning back to slide it onto Barclay’s cock. He brings a hand down to grip at the base of Barclay’s cock, and he is reminded that even with Barclay in his throat he didn’t take him all the way to the base, and somehow that spurs him on, guiding the tip to his hole and sliding the head in his wetness, rubbing their cocks together and making Barclay emit a noise akin to a growl, and in one deft movement he sinks down on Barclay’s cock, taking him a few inches in and pausing, making them both groan with the sudden pressure. 

It’s big, bigger than Stern has had in quite a while, but he loves the stretch, loves the slight pain and the girth of it, the way it feels to clench around something solid and hard and warm. He slides down just a bit more, adjusting to the feeling, having been stretched open by Barclay’s fingers earlier, and he spreads his thighs just a bit more open as he adjusts himself even lower. Barclay’s hand presses into the skin of his hip, his fingernails digging into skin, and he’s going to have marks on his body tomorrow and he can’t wait for them. 

After another slide down, he feels their hips meet, and he knows that all of Barclay’s cock is inside of him, the length of it snuggly buried in him, and he can feel Barclay’s hips tense below him, flexing with the effort not to just pick him up like a ragdoll and fuck him, and somehow that makes it even hotter for Stern, knowing he has control. “Fuck,” he breathes out, rotating his hips ciclically to feel Barclay’s cock rub his insides pleasurably. He reaches down to rub circles over his cock, feeling himself clench around Barclay and feel the pleasure build in the pit of his stomach again. 

With a bit of effort, he raises himself, and sinks back down on Barclay’s cock, and it’s faster, and it knocks the air out of both of them, Barclay letting out a moan that sounds like a mixture of a yell and a groan, Stern’s air coming out in huffs. He sets a fast, hard rhythm, his core working to support himself and continue fucking himself on Barclay’s cock, and he feels lucky he has a athletic build for this specific reason. 

But his bum arm is unable to hold himself up, and so it’s mostly just his legs and one arm, and it aches after a while, and Barclay can see Stern’s arms and legs begin to shake. Stern feels his thighs gripped by hands that dwarf them, and he feels Barclay hold him steady, gripping him tightly, and he no longer needs to hold himself up. “Is this okay?” Barclay gets out, his voice deep and rough and making Stern feel like he’s on fire, and he nods faster than he’s ever nodded before, and Barclay is fucking up into him. He sets a pace just as fast and brutal as the one Stern had, and he’s gripping Stern’s thighs with a touch that is close to reverence, and Stern allows himself to keep jerking off as he’s being fucked, his head falling back in ecstasy as another orgasm washes through him, clenching hard around Barclay’s cock as he cums again, his thighs tensing within Barclay’s grip. 

It’s been a while since he’s cum twice in a row, maybe months, maybe even a year, and he hadn’t expected it but it makes every muscle in his body tense and relax and shudder, the euphoria and feelings spreading from the top of his head, where Barclay had pulled on his hair, to the tips of his toes, racking through him like a hurricane.

Within Barclay’s grip, he feels Barclay’s hips stutter inside of him, his thrusts uneven and fast, and then he buries himself deep inside of Stern, and he feels full, Barclay’s cock inside of him to the brim, cock pulsing as he cums deep inside of Stern, but Stern’s heart feels full, too. Even like this, Barclay is gentle, his hands squeezing the soft skin of Stern’s thighs, and when he cums it’s with a sigh of “Joseph,” making Stern squirm with some sort of emotion. 

Stern collapses on Barclay’s chest when Barclay eases him down, Barclay’s cock slipping out of him, and Stern continues to clutch his skin and hold him close, needing the proximity after that experience. He’s not sure how it comes off, but Barclay seems to enjoy it, because he wraps an arm around Stern’s back and holds him close, too, gently. After a moment, he takes the condom that was still on him off, tying a knot around the end and tossing it in Stern’s trash basket. He does this all without moving Stern, who still lays on him, his arms loosely around Barclay’s torso. “You’re heavy,” Barclay notes, settling back into Stern’s bed, and Stern’s brow furrows. 

“You’re heavier,” he retorts, not moving. 

They nap like that, and Stern tries not to think of the ramifications of what he has done -- yes, Barclay and the others at Amnesty Lodge can be sometimes suspicious, and sure, he’s certainly not helping his mission in Kepler with these actions, but that’s not the only thing he lives for. Sometimes, he lives for fucking the tall, muscular and hairy chef-attendant in the lodge he’s living in. Sometimes, he lives for falling asleep in the midday, his cast-arm thrown around that man, still feeling the phantom hands all over his body where Barclay had gripped him. 

He’d think about it later.


	2. cradle me, i'll cradle you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Joseph,” Barclay starts, his voice low and soft. “You’ve gotta promise not to see me as a monster.” _
> 
> _And it breaks Stern’s heart, really, to think that Barclay could ever think Stern sees him as a monster. His hand comes up immediately to brush at the soft skin of Barclay’s cheek, just above his beard. His eyes glisten. “Of course not, Barclay. I see you as a man -- a man I’m incredibly lucky to know.” _
> 
> ok time for bigfoot sex now

It’s later. In fact, a lot later -- and Stern is standing, dumbfounded, looking at Barclay’s form in front of him. But it doesn’t look like Barclay anymore; he’s bigger, taller, a towering form that threatens to hit the ceiling. The breath in his chest has completely left, and he feels frozen, gazing up at _Bigfoot. _

A minute earlier, Barclay had told him that he needed to show him something, and removed his bracelet, and his body had shifted ineffably into the form of Bigfoot. In front of Stern, Barclay shifts between feet, somehow still appearing that apprehensive, sensitive man that keeps track of the towels and food at Amnesty, somehow. 

It’s making Stern’s head feel like it’s going to burst. He glances that there is a chair nearby, and grabs it to sit down, lest his lightheadedness makes him fall over. _What the fuck? Barclay is Bigfoot? How is that even possible? How can a man transform into something completely different -- a creature? _

Seeing his reaction, Barclay quickly slides the bracelet back onto his wrist, and he is in his human form as soon as he had turned to Bigfoot, and Stern looks away, pinching his nose and attempting to concentrate. Barclay reaches for his hand, and Stern takes it, still looking somewhere else. Gently, Barclay squeezes his hand, and Stern feels warmth flooding his face. 

Barclay’s voice is gentle, as always. “Stern, I should have warned you, it’s-- it’s complicated. But I trust you.”

Stern feels the emotions bubble in his chest. He feels slightly betrayed -- lied to. He slept with this man, unknowingly participating in sex with the very creature he’s been hunting down. But this new knowledge fundamentally changes what he knows about Bigfoot. Instead of a feral beast in the woods, Bigfoot is a man who makes good coffee. Bigfoot is a caring, friendly lodge chef who brings him freshly washed towels, still warm. And Bigfoot is the man that has cared for him, slept with him, cuddled with him and whispered with him late at night. 

And is he truly that dedicated to the mission of finding Bigfoot for the FBI? Certainly, he’s been invested in finding cryptids, especially Bigfoot, since he was young -- but the FBI was just a way to get there, a career path that suited his love for suits and his desire to uncover the truth. But now that the truth’s uncovered, will he remain loyal to them? Or to Barclay? 

The answer seems easy to him. He raises onto his feet and steps forward, and so does Barclay, and they’re hugging. He’s a bit taller than Barclay is, and the man rests a head on his chest as they embrace each other. Barclay is quiet in his grip, but Stern shudders -- and notices after the tears have already dripped down his face that he’s crying. Pulling back a bit, Barclay looks into his eyes, and wipes a tear from them. He feels thrust into the unknown, and the only thing holding him steady is Barclay’s hands, big and comforting around him. 

-

When Barclay knocks at his door, Stern hums a soft affirmation and the man opens the door, the hinges squeaking a small protest, and he steps inside. 

He looks nervous, like they’re teenagers and they’re forbidden to see each other in the night. He wrings his hands together, those hands Stern loves, calloused and gentle. So caring, so thoughtful, so steadying. Stern sits at the edge of his bed, and beckons Barclay over; the man sheds his shoes at the door politely, and comes to sit right by Stern. If he had a bit less control, Stern would have pounced on him already, but he just sits and watches as Barclay settles next to him, and Barclay greets him with a kiss to his cheek, sweet and quick. 

Blood rushes to Stern’s face and he can’t help but feel warm with the sweet gesture. They haven’t really quite talked about what they are yet. Later, later, later, it always was, between them. They’d talk about it later. 

_He’s probably afraid, _Stern thinks. _But I am too._

And what could be more terrifying than the thought that this man’s true identity -- the form he can shift into with just the absense of a simple bracelet -- corrupts Stern’s entire mission, his entire career? That to be with him, and to trust him and stay with him is agreeing to abandon the responsibilities of his work? 

But somehow, he is unable to feel anything for the FBI, any sense of loyalty at all to his unit when his eyes settle on Barclay’s face. That dark olive skin, the strong nose, the kind eyes. And Barclay’s always looking at him with this little smile, like they’re the two keepers of the best secret in the world. And maybe they are. 

Tonight, Barclay sits next to him with his dark, long hair wet from a shower. When they meet in the night, Barclay often has had a day shift and chooses to shower before coming to Stern’s room or inviting Stern into his own. He smells of his shower soap and beard oil and cleanliness with just a bite of cologne, and Stern loves it. (Which isn’t saying much, because Stern loves it even when he gets Barclay after a shift, smelling of sweat and a day’s work, the comfort of his natural scent. He thinks he’d love Barclay’s body no matter when or where the circumstances allow him to be near it.) 

With one easy motion, Stern’s hand grips the front of Barclay’s shirt and tugs him forward to connect their lips. They move together fluidly, Barclay having anticipated his movements, and his big, gentle hands come to slide around Stern’s waist, his fingers brushing the skin under Stern’s flannel just so. It makes goosebumps raise on his arms. 

Despite Stern’s decision to stay loyal to Barclay, to double-cross his unit and stay as an informant for the Pine Guard, he’s unable to sate his curiosity about Barclay’s form as Bigfoot. It’s something that has caused some awkwardness when he has tried to question Barclay about it -- and he has rarely gotten answers to his questions. Until tonight. Because Barclay had finally agreed to let him explore this form, to touch him and study him and find out for himself what the sasquach really was up-close. 

In the process of convincing Barclay, he’d had to reassure him that there was nothing to be ashamed about in showing his Sylvain form to Stern. Since learning the background about the Pine Guard and Sylvain, he understood now that Barclay wasn’t the only one who had a different form -- it was most of the residents of the lodge. But Barclay seemed hesitant about Stern seeing and touching his form at length. Stern wondered why, but did not press. He felt lucky that Barclay was going to let him in the first place. 

Stern slides a hand up Barclay’s chest, starting around his soft stomach, and slides his hand into the still-damp hair at the nape of Barclay’s neck. The man’s eyes flutter closed, and Stern leans forward to close the gap between them and connect their lips in a gentle kiss. Then, his hand find’s Barclay’s, and he fiddles with the worn bracelet on the man’s wrist, just twisting it and feeling the old fabric. Gently, Barclay pulls away, and just looks at Stern, in the low lamplight of his Amnesty Lodge bedroom. To Stern, his expression is unreadble. 

“Joseph,” Barclay starts, his voice low and soft. “You’ve gotta promise not to see me as a monster.” 

And it breaks Stern’s heart, really, to think that Barclay could ever think Stern sees him as a monster. His hand comes up immediately to brush at the soft skin of Barclay’s cheek, just above his beard. His eyes glisten. “Of course not, Barclay. I see you as a man -- a man I’m incredibly lucky to know.” 

And Barclay nods, coming to stand in front of Stern’s bed, shifting between his feet uncomfortably, again, before quickly shedding his clothes and his bracelet in tune. His body expands in a way that Stern would miss if he blinked, but he stares, unwavering, watching Barclay grow taller, wider, watches the patches of fur that appear all along his body, a medium brown in color, matching the shade of Barclay’s damp hair and beard. His face isn’t the same either -- it maintains some semblance of Barclay’s own face, but it no longer holds recognizably human features, and instead Stern is met with the form of a sasquach standing in his bedroom, his head just brushing the unactivated ceiling fan. And in Stern’s mind, just as he had saw this form the first time, he grapples with the confusion of seeing this shift, his logical thoughts attempting to bargain that Barclay couldn’t possibly be this creature -- and yet he still acts and sounds like Barclay, albeit a bit deeper and wilder. And he still shifts from foot to foot, awkwardly, nervously. 

Raising to his feet, Stern stands, and takes the two steps forward to gain proximity to Barclay. His eyes look relieved, now, as Stern approaches him, and Stern smiles up at Barclay. (Usually, Stern is just a few inches taller than Barclay -- so this change isn’t unwelcome, even if it is unexpected.) 

“May I?” Stern asks quietly, his hands hovering just a few inches from Barclay’s body, and he nods in affirmation. Given consent, Stern’s hands come to rest at Barclay’s chest, covered in soft hair that coats most of his body. He trails his hand down, from Barclay’s chest to his stomach, and feels the hair begin to become more course the further it is down his body, which Stern finds interesting. “Hmmm,” he admires, letting his hands now roam over Barclay’s shoulders, and down to his arms. “You know, I had quite a few childhood fantasies about finding and examining Bigfoot.” 

“Oh?” he hears Barclay speak, his voice the same, familiar, but just a little lower, rumbling Stern’s chest. “Am I living up to your expectations?” 

Stern smiles up at Barclay, connecting their eyes, and he can see the fear in Barclay’s eyes, the apprehension for this vulnerability, and he lightly squeezes Barclay’s arm in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “Exceeding them,” he replies, his hands coming up to caress the soft fur at Barclay’s neck. “May I kiss you?” he asks, unsure of what Barclay’s reply may be. 

There’s a small noise, a little choked one, that comes from Barclay, but the man leans down, his face just inches from Stern’s own. Now that Stern has easier access, his hands come to touch Barclay’s face, the features he recognizes and the features he doesn’t. “You sure?” Barclay asks softly. 

In response, Stern leans forward, closing the space between them, and laying a gentle kiss atop Barclay’s lips. It is almost instinctual to kiss him now, familiar, and even in this different form he’s still Barclay, still with gentle hands, still with soft, slow kisses that make Stern think they have all the time in the world. Barclay’s teeth, in this form, are even sharper than usual -- but Stern kisses him easily, and does not mind the slight difference. And even as it is a bit messier, it is all the same in its feeling -- warm, romantic. From behind him, he can feel Barclay’s hands gently touch his back, just the lightest touch; he can tell Barclay is trying to remain gentle, to control what force he is using. It makes something in him alight that he knows Barclay has ample strength that he is holding back -- even more than Stern had originally guessed just by his strength as a human. Now, everything is multiplied -- his hands are bigger as they slip beneath Stern’s shirt, and the mindfulness he must exert to control his strength is too. 

Tonight, Stern only wears a pair of old flannel pajama pants and a sleep shirt, one that is loose on him and hangs from his neck to reveal the skin of his neck. Leaning forward, Barclay kisses a line from his jaw to the base of his neck, pressing his lips and tongue greedily to Stern’s skin, making the man below him sigh out. But Barclay is careful, and doesn’t suck or bite or even use his teeth at all -- which is new, because in his human form he usually would. 

But Stern doesn’t question him, only threads his hands in the thick fur that hangs like Barclay’s hair down his back, and pulls a bit. From the man before him comes a groan that does not sound human, and it spikes arousal in the pit of Stern’s stomach to hear that rough throaty noise. 

Pulling back from Stern’s neck, Barclay begins to pull at Stern’s shirt, his hands wrapping around the looser parts near his waist, but accidentally tears the fabric as he goes, Stern feeling it rip above his skin. As soon as he does it, Barclay apologizes: “Oh God, Joseph, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” but Stern quiets him with a kiss that he hopes hides how glaringly aroused he is with the prospect of Barclay’s easy strength, the fact the he could pick him up and fuck him against any of these walls-- 

He tries to calm himself down. After all, Barclay is scared enough about what this form means for what Stern thinks about him, and he certainly doesn’t want to make Barclay feel self conscious or objectified. 

But it’s just that this is what he’s been dreaming about since he was a little boy, staying up and reading cryptid books and looking up Bigfoot sightings online and watching each and every video, cutting out pictures from books and hanging them in his room. And he finds out Bigfoot is his boyfriend? What is he meant to do with that besides this? 

In his mind, he remembers that this was originally meant to be a purely educational research opportunity. _Oh, well. There would be other times. _

Stern’s shirt now a torn mess that lays on his floor, he takes note in his head to buy a new sleep shirt sometime in the future, and pulls Barclay towards his bed. As he sits down, he strips off his pajama pants quickly, leaving him wanting and waiting. Barclay doesn’t sit next to him, his eyes still nervous, and Stern realizes he doesn’t for fear of breaking the bed under his weight. It doesn’t fail to turn him on even more, his legs tensing together as he gazes up at the sasquach before him. 

Within a minute, Barclay shifts to his knees near the bed, kneeling down, still taller than he would be if this were under normal circumstances, and Stern realizes all of the sudden that Barclay is going to eat him out, and he spreads his legs willingly. He’s already glistening with pleasure and slick, the head of his cock swollen and red and wet. Barclay’s hot breath is just a few inches off, against the tender skin of his inner thigh, and he leaves a sloppy kiss there, the sharp points of his teeth just barely grazing Stern’s skin and making his legs jerk beneath Barclay’s tongue. His broad, strong hands come to grip at Stern’s thighs, pushing them apart, and to test the grip, Stern attempts to move them out of Barclay’s grasp -- it’s not budging, and Stern’s mind clouds with pleasure at the thought of Barclay’s strength. Keeping eye contact with Stern as he does so, Barclay leans forward and kisses the head of Stern’s cock, just barely touching it with his tongue, lapping at the wetness there gently. It makes Stern cry out, his eyes rolling back and hips jerking forward to meet the gentle kiss. 

His head and shoulders are wider than normal, and his hands are bigger and stronger as they spread Stern’s thighs. Even his tongue is bigger, and just a bit different -- it seems longer and wider than what Stern remembers, but it’s still Barclay’s mouth, and with the same reverence as always, he licks from Stern’s perineum to his cock, pausing to give the length of it special attention. One of Barclay’s hands comes from Stern’s thigh to hold the hood of it up, and his tongue laps at Stern’s cock, rubbing circles into it and making Stern’s thighs jerk inwardly with pleasure. At that movement, he can feel Barclay’s lips change into a smile, can feel the rumblings of a chuckle, all against his folds, the vibration of it making him dizzy. 

Pulling back just for a moment, Barclay looks up at him, his lips wet with Stern’s slick. His eyes are kind, wanting. “Want my fingers?” he asks, shyly, and Stern head jerks with a quick nod. 

He realizes a moment later, when he feels just the tip of one of Barclay’s fingers nudge at his entrance, that Barclay’s hands and fingers are bigger, now; and he groans with recognition at this fact as Barclay slides it inside of him, just an inch, at first, still licking Stern’s cock with sloppy kisses and a languid tongue. It feels like two of Barclay’s human fingers, or maybe a small toy -- certainly a bigger intrusion than just one finger, and Barclay seems to realize this too. He does not move his finger, but kisses Stern’s inner thigh gently. “That feel okay?” he murmurs against Stern’s skin and after adjusting for a moment, Stern nods, rolling his hips down to take more of Barclay’s finger inside of him. He looks up at the man’s face kneeling before him, and he looks hungry, ravenous, wanting. Just like normal, he slides his fingers inside Stern pleasurably, arching them to rub the pad of his pointer against Stern’s soft walls. 

And it’s like it’s too much, but still not enough, Stern spreading his thighs as far as they can go to take whatever Barclay will give him. He feels Barclay’s tongue slide along with his finger inside of him and it makes Stern’s eyes roll back in his head, moans falling from his open mouth, interrupting the previous heavy silence of night. His tongue is firm and warm and soft and wet, and Barclay licks inside of Stern deeply. 

When Barclay begins to kiss at his cock again, the pink head of it glistening with saliva and slick, he feels another of Barclay’s fingers at his entrance, just toying with it, slipping the tip of his second finger in with the first in a question, an extension to Stern. So Stern looks at him, his eyes burning into Barclay’s, the man he’s been wanting for as long as he can remember, and says, “yes,” more a plea than anything else. 

But Barclay takes it, his second finger sliding into Stern’s hole, spreading him open, joining the first and making him feel so very full, fuller than he’s felt in a long time. This is him stretched bigger than when Barclay fucks him in his human form -- this is the equivalent of 4 of Barclay’s fingers, even Barclay’s fist. It’s making him feel dizzy and so fucking turned on, his hips fucking against the large intrusion, and Barclay continues to pleasure him with his tongue. 

It’s too much, so many feelings all at once, as Barclay’s fingers crook into a curve to fuck him with, massaging Stern’s sensitive inner walls with the pads of his large fingers. His lips close around Stern’s cock and suck, and then it’s just right, it’s everything he’s ever needed. He feels every other thought in the universe he’s ever had slip away, and all Stern knows is Barclay -- the gentle, strong man he never knew he’d need. 

His hips jackhammer against Barclay’s face and fingers, fucking down on them in earnest as his orgasm washes through him. He pulses around those thick fingers, tensing and bearing down at them, but they remain steady, still filling him up as his body jerks from oversensitivity. When Barclay senses his body is overstimulated, he withdraws his mouth, just leaving kisses on the insides of his thighs, at the crest of his pubic bone, where a little patch of black hair lies. But his fingers stay inside Stern, and for that Stern is grateful, feeling the many twitches and pulses of his orgasm around Barclay’s practiced fingers. 

In the afterglow, he begins to realize where he is, and in what situation, and that Barclay’s fingers are still inside of him, still curved against his sensitive spot, but unmoving, now. He opens one eye to peer at Barclay, and finds the man with one hand busy -- now down between his dark, hairy legs to grip at the base of his cock, stroking upwards slowly. 

Almost immediately, Stern feels a flare of pleasure to see Barclay like this on his knees in front of him, desperate just from tasting him and stretching him open. It makes his mouth water. In just a minute, he joins Barclay on the floor, pushing Barclay down onto the carpet to lay. If he wouldn’t use the bed, Stern would have to improvise. 

Complying obediently, Barclay now lays on the carpet, his hands idly at his sides, and Stern watches with heavily lidded eyes at Barclay’s cock comes to rest heavily against his lower stomach. Dark hair (or fur) is everywhere on Barclay’s body, but the hair around his cock is course and curly, and his length resembles what Stern knows Barclay’s cock looks like in his human form -- uncut, thick, with a mouthwateringly large mushroom head -- but the skin is darker, and like everything else that has changed with his transformation, he’s bigger. 

As he leans down to brush some hair from Barclay’s face, he watches those big, brown eyes watch him. “I’m going to take good care of you,” he murmurs, kissing the top of Barclay’s head. When he settles, just above Barclay’s hips, he can feel Barclay’s hard cock brush against his ass. It makes a strained breath, just shy of a moan, come from between Barclay’s teeth. “Okay, baby?” 

With glistening eyes, Barclay nods immediately, and Stern reaches down to grip the base of his cock from between his legs. He gives it a rudimentary stroke, just caressing the thing with his hands, but he’s surprised when he finds his hand doesn’t fully wrap around it. And it’s long, too; bigger than most of his toys, and certainly bigger than Barclay’s cock when he’s in his human form. But Stern has always liked a challenge, and there’s no way he’s leaving this room without at least trying. 

So he directs Barclay’s cock to his own, sliding the head of it between his wet, slick folds. He uses it to grind down on, pleasuring his own cock, and Barclay pants beneath him, his fingers threading in the carpet beneath them, knuckles white. But one of Barclay’s hands darts out to connect with his wrist as he does so, stopping his movements. Stern gives him a questioning look. Barclay’s words come out of him like they’re caught beneath his throat, and his voice is husky, deep. “I don’t have a condom. Not for -- not for this size,” he admits, and it just makes Stern grin. 

“That’s okay. Wanna feel you. It’s not our first rodeo. If that’s okay,” he gets out, continuing grinding just slightly against Barclay’s length, feeling their cocks grind against each other. They’ve fucked a number of times, possibly almost every night since the first, months upon months of learning each other’s bodies. And it wouldn’t be the first they’ve gone without a condom -- they do use them usually, not only for the recognized benefit of safety but also for lube and lack of messiness. But Stern isn’t fertile, and both of them are clean, and Barclay nods, his toes curling as Stern uses his cock to grind down upon. 

And so he positions Barclay’s cock just below his entrance, still slick and open from Barclay’s fingers, and sinks down, just on the head of it, feeling Barclay fill him up and stretch him around the girth of it. He pauses after that, adjusting to the feeling, the stretch. It’s bigger still than Barclay’s fingers, but just by a bit -- and it’s still pleasurable without feeling painful, so he sinks down another couple inches. 

Watching Barclay, Stern examines the man’s face contort, his eyes rolling back and his hands pulling roughly at the carpet beneath him. His mouth is open in a growl, a deep one, one that sounds feral and wild, something of an animal. It makes Stern clench around his cock, and with that, one of Barclay’s hands comes to grip roughly at his hip, squeezing and scratching his soft skin with his fingers. Barclay’s hips shift up, just closing a bit more space between their hips, and it feels full, so incredibly full. Stern pants, his hips suspended just a few inches above Barclay’s, and he pulls upwards just to sink back down, fucking himself on Barclay’s cock roughly. It pulls another groan from deep in Barclay’s chest out, and he watches Barclay slam him own head backwards against the carpet, his back arching in pleasure. 

It’s addicting to watch Barclay like this, to see him alit in pleasure, to know he has absolute control over this big man, this cryptid. He rotates his hips circularly, feeling Barclay’s cock rub inside him just right, feeling the head of it brush against his most sensitive parts. 

And then that hand comes to rest just above Stern’s cock, and Barclay’s thumb rubs over the head of it, and he feels everything at once, the oversensitivity from his last orgasm and the thickness of Barclay’s cock, almost fully inside of him, spreading him open from the inside. His thighs can’t be spread nearly wide enough, but he already feels like he’s going to come just from all of these feelings, all of this pleasure. It’s intoxicating. 

He holds himself off, looking at the ceiling to stave off his orgasm, but feels Barclay’s hips jerk under him, his cock pushing inside of Stern and pressing deeper. He hears Barclay’s voice from under him, deep and rumbling: “Fuck, Joseph. Baby,” and it makes heat gather in his stomach, continuing to bounce on Barclay’s cock, taking him deep and hard. 

But he needs to say something, and in this half-conscious, half-lustful state, he’s unable to think before the words come tumbling out of his mouth. “You think you’re… going to hurt me. But you won’t. You don’t. I…” Stern swears, and readjusts, positioning one hand to hold himself up behind him and fucking down on Barclay’s cock in earnest, feeling it fill him up again and again. “I want to take care of you. I want to show you that… I can take you. I want you. Even like this.” 

When he looks down at Barclay, he finds the man’s eyes glistening as they did before, damp as his whole body is. He wants to wipe the tears from Barclay’s eyes, but his hands are busy, so he just finds Barclay’s hand with one of his own and squeezes it, and he feels Barclay squeeze back, his hand still incredibly gentle. “You’re not… you’re not a monster, Barclay,” he gasps out, unsure if he is making any sense. “You’re perfect. In any form.” 

Beneath him, he feels Barclay’s legs tense up at his words, his hips canting forward and burying himself deep inside of Stern. He clenches around Barclay’s cock, and his head falls back, eyes closed, as he feels Barclay spill inside of him, feels the warmth spread inside of him, filling him up. He pushes Barclay’s hand out of the way and presses desperate circles around his cock, tensing and untensing until his back arches with orgasm, coming a second time, this time around Barclay’s length. He grinds his hips down on Barclay’s cock as it softens inside of him, and he can hear the man below him gasp in oversensitivity as he uses his cock. 

After a moment, Stern slumps forward, rolling ungracefully off of Barclay to lay on the floor next to him. His orgasm is still washing through him, and he can feel wetness on his thighs and just below his hole as their combined fluids slowly leak out of him, but he can’t find it in himself to clean himself up, at least not right now. Barclay is still panting, braced against the floor, and Stern lays next to him. Using one hand, Stern searches for Barclay’s hand nearby, and finds it, wrapping it in his own. Barclay squeezes his hand, and he gets even closer to the man, propping his head on Barclay’s chest and using his other hand to stroke the soft hair of Barclay’s chest lightly. Barclay hums in a gentle assent. 

They stay like that for a while, just lingering on the floor, still sticky with orgasm and still glowing with the euphoria of meaningful sex. And Stern’s content to stay like that as long as Barclay is -- he could spend forever just touching Barclay, studying his body, kissing his skin. 

“You really mean that stuff you said?” he hears Barclay’s voice ask, and Stern’s heart skips. 

He thinks for a moment. He hopes it’s not too emotional an admission. But they’re always treading on the line between friends, nighttime lovers, and boyfriends, anyway. “Of course I did,” he admits. “Every word.” 

He leaves a kiss on Barclay’s chest, and hopes Barclay believes him. After all, Stern’s not going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> leave a comment pls

**Author's Note:**

> i tripped and fell into sternclay hell and i live here now 
> 
> pls comment if u enjoyed and i think i'm going to be writing a second part on this because jesus i have a lot of sternclay thoughts
> 
> find me on tumblr @lucretiagf if u like : )


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